Depth of Shadows
by fergieb26
Summary: Bond and 004 are assigned to a routine mission, but things go wrong fast. Bond must delve into the shadows and out of the reach of MI6 to complete a mission of the utmost secrecy without any help from his allies. Bond finds himself alone, outnumbered and on the run. Can he elude every secret organization in the world while working his way into the depths of one the most notorious?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: _Thank you so much for checking out my story! I am and have been for a long time a huge 007 fan and this is my meager way of making a contribution to the world of James Bond. I am and have also been since birth an American, so, although I will do my dead level best to get the British-ness correct, I am certain that British readers, or those more acquainted with the nuances of British English will spot my errors, of course all criticism is welcome and appreciated and that extends to the dialect as well, if you spot something of this nature, by all means point it out to me so that I can avoid the same mistake in the future. One last thing, although I stated that all reviews are welcomed, that is with one exception, out of respect for all parties, including yourself, please refrain from saying anything too nasty that does not pertain to the writing itself, we are all writers here and that is what interests us so let's keep to the topic. That said, please enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Salt. The air was laced with the distinct scent of brine, infused in the air by the nearby Caribbean Sea. This salt was joined by the salty smell of perspiration, emanating from the bodies of many a beachgoer, slicked in sunblock in the fight against the sun's searing rays, and losing badly. All sorts roamed this beach, teenage girls in bikinis frolicking in the waves, men too big for their too small speedos casually strolling down the coast, old women in hats redolent of great straw umbrellas, university students on one of their many breaks spending their parents money on drink and debauchery. Bond sipped his margarita, the sharpness of the salted rim made for delicious counterpoint to the tang of the beverage. He gazed out over the sea through the tinted lenses of his Tom Ford sunglasses. Glancing at his watch, he noted that they had only eight minutes before the scheduled meeting with the Frenchman.

Yes, _they_, thought Bond. A right inconvenience and utter waste of time in his eyes. The fact that he should even be asked to work with a partner on this assignment, much less the frivolity of the entire affair had set him on edge, and put more than a chill into the working relationship of 007 and 004. This mission had begun as any other, with a sit-down in M's office as he explained the pertinent facts of the case. Of course Bond was already up to speed on the majority of the current affairs deemed to fall under MI6's purview, which was indeed a vast array of international concerns. But with each mission came the necessary if somewhat tedious task of drilling down into the miniscule elements and sorting through them before taking to the field. Key players, motives, financial interests, interests of the Crown, what the Americans thought of the damned thing, oil interests, possible connections to terror and on and on _ad nauseum. _These meetings could drag into hours at times and Bond thoroughly hated them. And this was when it was only him, M and possibly Miss Moneypenny and occasionally Q when he needed a new contraption to carry on assignment.

But not this time. This time it was him and 004. Bond knew him professionally, from time to time, double-0s trained together, and of course there were departmental meetings that brought them all into contact, but the very role of a double-0 agent simply begged to filled by a loner. A man who could go days without conversation from another and be satisfied, if not happy about the solitude. There were few married men in the double-0 branch, and not many divorces either, in fact the division had the lowest divorce rate in the service, which had an admittedly high rate of marital dissolution. No these men were wired differently. Attachment to others, sentiment, sharing a life with another, these ideas did not figure into their calculations. Recognizing this, the Service rarely put two agents on assignment together due to the rather disastrous track record. But there were occasions which necessitated the practice and Bond hoped simply to avoid being put on one of these duos. But he could not avoid it this time. He had been requested by name. The Frenchmen had asked for 007 and another double-0 to meet him in Cancun and deliver him safely back to Britain where he could be protected by the Crown for the rest of his natural life. Of course MI6 had to first verify that he would hold up his end of the bargain. And so here Bond sat, scanning the area for threats, though none were expected. In the two days since he and 004 had arrived in Mexico, there had not been a whiff of trouble. No intelligence suggested any threat, but the Frenchman was jumpy, nervous, and had something that gave him enough clout to get the Service to agree to send two of its highest level agents to hand deliver him back to London.

Bond took another sip and another look at his watch. Only four minutes until they would meet him face to face. He had of course seen pictures and video of the man, heard recordings of his voice, so he knew more or less what to expect, but this was the first and hopefully only time they would meet as far as Bond was concerned. 004 sat down at the table. A well-muscled waiter came by and took his drink order.

_A daquiri, _thought Bond, _dear God what a child._

004 was younger by some years than Bond, less experienced and less travelled. M had made perfectly clear on this assignment that he was to defer to Bond. Bond considered pulling rank and forcing him to order a man's drink, but refrained. Richard Tell, was his name, or at least the name Bond knew him as. When dealing with covert agents one never can know for sure. His longer mop of hair contrasted with bonds close crop, and his face appeared softer, his eyes kinder. But the appearance belied a killer instinct. Bond had read some of his mission reports. Like him or not as a companion, Bond respected hid record in the field, particularly for such a young agent. More than one head of a terror ring had met their death by his hand, and his exploits were not limited to the realm of middle eastern rabble-rousers. Bond finished his drink and looked at his Omega wristwatch. The Frenchman was late. He had gone to great lengths to arrange this meeting, changing the time and location multiple times in the last thirty-six hours, on top of requesting two double-0s. Bond took a harder look around, and after still discovering nothing out of the ordinary, he reluctantly turned to his obligatory partner.

"He's late." Bond said in monotone.

"He'll be here." Said Tell.

"He specified 2:00 pm in the last communication and we haven't heard a peep since then. It almost seems too quiet here."

"Relax, he'll show."

"Don't take that tone with me Tell."

"So he's late a little. He's French. They take three hours for lunch for God's sake." Tell dismissed.

Bond exhaled sharply through his nose and crossed his arms. He continued to scan the area. He had not felt his mobile vibrate, there were no texts from the Frenchman, Moneypenny, M, or anyone else. Bond was unarmed, or at least to the extent anyone such as bond could be, for his entire person was a deadly weapon. His hands and feet sharp daggers, wielded at the ends of his powerful arms and legs. His wit sharper than any sword, his indomitable personality a force of undiluted power and greatest of all in his arsenal, his cunning mind, deadlier than a sniper's bullet. But the lack of his trusty Walther PPK riding under his shoulder was for the first time on this entire operation a nagging concern in the back of his mind. And it was slowly working forward.

"Just now, did you come from the Casino?" Bond asked.

"Sorry?" Tell seemed confused.

"The Casino," bond repeated, clearly aggravated. "were you there?"

"Yes, I was scanning to see if I could find him, keep an eye on him. He didn't turn up."

"Hmm."

"But there's no reason to think he would've."

"Other than his known gambling addiction most likely exacerbated by the nerves, which must be on edge at the moment. You're sure he wasn't in the Casino?" Bond asked.

"I didn't see him there. I looked around quite a bit, so unless he's disguised. . . "

"He's not in disguise." Bond dismissed.

"No, I wouldn't have thought so."

Bond looked at his watch again. Almost ten minutes had elapsed since their scheduled time of meeting. He could not pinpoint the source of his concern, he knew it had to be more than the annoyance of working with a partner. But something was wrong. The man they were meeting was a high value intelligence asset seeking protecting from a multinational adversary, and was prepared to exchange a large quantity of harmful information to this multinational for it. He had been underground for some time, so that explained some of the safety of their arrangement, but Bond had expected at least the threat of trouble. But for two whole days the city had been quiet. Nothing had scanned across the radar, no threats had registered. Bond had grown so bored with the lack of action he had taken to the Casino last night and won about ten-thousand quid. Today had been no different. His mind raced to pick up some distant memory, some sense of unease, but aside from the burden of an unwanted ally, nothing came to mind. Tell interrupted his intense recollection.

"Perhaps he is going to alter the time of the meeting once again." Tell offered.

"He would've contacted us by now."

Bond pulled out his mobile. No notifications. He dialed the number of the hotel in which Tell was staying. The briefing had included all the usuals such as where he was staying, what he was driving, et cetera. M had warned them that any attempts to make contact in advance might spook the Frenchman, he was wound so tight. So they had kept their distance. But now it was time to locate this bastard and be done with the whole thing.

"Hello, Ritz Carlton Cancun, how may I help you?" the front desk answered in accented but beautiful English.

"Yes I'm calling to see if my friend is still checked in at your hotel. He is checked in under the name Marcel Robards." _An alias, of course._

"One moment sir," a pause, and then: "He seems to have checked out less than an hour ago."

Bond hung up without a response.

"Gone. The man at the desk says he checked out less than an hour ago."

"Damn."

"You start checking the other hotels, I'm going to the airport. Call me if you find him. If not, meet me there. Bond ordered.

"Now hang on-"

"Listen to me Tell, we have a potentially compromised operation, there will be no hanging on. You will defer to me and you will do so this very instant or I promise you it will be a stupendous regret of yours for the foreseeable future. Now do your job and help me find this poor bastard before someone else does.

Bond walked away without a word, leaving no time for Tell to even blink a reply. He slammed the door of his rented Jaguar coupe and roared off.


	2. Chapter 2

The airport was the usual mayhem. Tourists with lost bags, wailing children, lazy workers and endless queues. Bond strode into the airport calmly, but with tension in his muscles. A close observer would notice the strain on his face, the tightness of the neck. Depending on the observer, they might notice more than just the neck.

Bond approached the ticket counter for British air and selected the most attractive agent he could find. She was in her twenties, blonde, fresh faced. Bond pulled the sunglasses from his face and stuffed them in his shirt pocket and affected a casual smile.

"Sweltering, isn't it. Long way from the commonwealth, right?"

The agent immediately smiled back. "Indeed it is sir, how might I help you?"

"Well you see I need to return to London with all haste and I was informed that there is a flight boarding any moment. Might I find a seat on that flight?" Bond asked, willing away his tension for a few moments while he exercised his charm.

"There is a flight to London, and it takes off in less than ten I'm afraid. You'd never make it."

"I've no luggage to check, I just need a ticket. I'd love to be back in Britain by breakfast you see." Bond smiled, tilted his head slightly the other direction. He had slowly leaned forward, elbow on the counter now without the agent noticing.

"I'm sorry sir. We've a strict policy no to sell tickets to flights that are moments from takeoff."

"Well. I suppose if I can't have breakfast in England I shall have to settle for breakfast with you. Tomorrow?"

The girl laughed unexpectedly, and quickly regained her composure. The subtext of Bond's words was not lost on her, neither were his bright blue eyes.

"What about tonight?"

"I have a strict policy of liquids only after dark, I'm afraid cocktails and champagne will have to do." Bond kept smiling. The girl had leaned forward a bit more. Bond withdrew his American Express. He laid the black rectangle on the counter and slid it towards her.

"I'll have a ticket on that flight. Round trip. Back the day after tomorrow…" Bond said in a lower voice, the brightness of earlier gone out of it. She looked at the card.

"Oh. . . I don't know."

"Well, I guess I'll try Continental." Bond slowly backed up.

"Wait!" She said. Bond looked right at her. "Your name sir?"

"Bond, James Bond." He replied.

She typed a few strokes into the computer, swiped the card.

"Gate B9. You'd better hurry, Mr. Bond." She smiled. Bond took note of her nametag.

_Catherine._

"A pleasure Catherine." Bond said as she printed his ticket.

"The pleasure's all mine." She replied, handing him the ticket. Their hands brushed in the exchange, his hands rough, strong, and electrifying.

"It certainly will be." Bond said as he walked off casually toward the plane.

The plane was just about to leave when Bond arrived, ticket and passport in hand. The frustrated gate agent processed him through in a hurry and slammed the door to the jetway behind him. As he stepped aboard, he scanned the aisles for the Frenchman. He was starting to doubt his plan as he realized he did not see him.

Earlier that morning, knowing he had a jumpy target, Bond made note of the departure times of the flights leaving for Europe. The only two that fit the current time frame were the one he was on right now, and one Delta flight to Portugal. Portugal did not seem right, especially since England was his final destination anyway and the Frenchman must have know his time was running out. But now Bond felt that nagging worry growing by the second. He began to wonder what might have scared the Frenchman into running in the first place. Perhaps a threatening phone call? A misunderstanding? Had he spotted himself or Tell? Bond did not know. He went all the way down the plane, slowly, looking for his man, but he was nowhere to be found.

_ Damn._

Bond knew he had been wrong. He wasn't on this plane, or any other most likely. His mobile rang.

"Bond." He answered. It was Tell. "On my way."

Bond turnded on his heel and rushed down the aisle, pushing past a shocked stewardess who yelled for him to stop. At the main hatch, he turned the handle and opend the door. People gasped and shrieked and he couldn't resist looking back at them.

"Seems I forgot something at the hotel."

And then he jumped. It was about fifteen feet down, and asphalt below. He executed a perfect tuck and roll and was up and running on the tarmac with little more than a bruise on his shoulderblade.

Bond was pushing the Jaguar past sixty on roads meant for half the speed. Flying toward one of the local clubs where Tell had specified they meet. Escaping the airport undetected and returning to his vehicle had been easy once he slipped inside the baggage handling area where the workers were all busy sorting luggage and did not even notice a stray gringo. There were certain benefits to Mexico's less stringent security measures. Bond pulled his phone out and as he was about to dial, he got a call from Tell.

"What is it?" He answered.

"It's the Frenchman. He's dead." I found him shot in the bathroom of the nightclub. Looks fresh."

"Bloody hell." Bond muttered. "Did he have anything on him?"

"No, not even a mobile or a wallet. Which means he was probably searched and whoever did this nicked everything."

"Stay there. I'll be there in five." Bond said, throwing his phone in the passenger seat.

When Bond arrived, the police were there, taking statements from lots of locals and one white man, Tell. Bond got out and started to approach. He stopped outside the perimeter so as not to get caught up in the police questioning. Tell saw him and gave him a barely noticeable nod. Bond began to look around, scanning for trouble. The nightclub was located on a narrow street between other clubs, bars, cafes and shops, with apartments above. Endless alleys connected to other streets and alleys. They were totally open and myriad escape routes for the killer existed. Tracking him down in this would not be easy. Out of his peripheral vision, Bond saw Tell reach for his pistol. On instinct, he began to dove but instantly felt the searing pain in his left arm of a bullet. An instant later the world erupted in the cacophony of gunfire. Bond leapt out of the way and hit the ground behind a police car. He crawled behind the tire as bullets pinged around him. Two officers were dead and Tell was firing at whoever was shooting. Tell was unharmed, thankfully, and taking cover behind the other car. Bond was still unarmed and completely frustrated by this fact. One of the Mexican polieman lay dead ten feet from him, his service revolver still holstered. Bond could reach it if he dashed out but he would be dangerously exposed.

"What the hell is this?!" Bond yelled.

Tell took cover for a moment to shout back.

"Whoever did the Frenchman must have wanted to clean up all the loose ends!"

Tell opened fire again and Bond peered over the car for the first time. There were about six men, dressed in tactical gear and firing assault rifles in bursts while advancing. Bond figured they had twenty seconds. As the adrenaline began to set in, he felt his arm for the first time since he was shot. The stabbing pain of the bullet wound travelled up his arm, and the lower half felt a bit numb. He judged it a graze and disregarded it for the time being. Death from exsanguination or infection were not the greatest threats at the moment.

"Cover me!" Bond shouted.

Tell popped up and fired, hitting one of their assailants in the chest, taking him down. Bond dove for the pistol in the dead cops holster and managed to claw it out, thanking God there was not a strap on the holster. He instantly rolled over and squeezed off two shots, acquiring his target in milliseconds. The first shot missed wide but the second hit one of the shooters square in the knee, exploding the joint in a mess of tendons and cartilage. The howl of pain let out by the assassin pierced the air amid the gun fire and Bond scrambled to get out of the way. He managed to roll behing the other car where Tell was without being hit. The assassins regrouped, now two men down, and the fighting ceased for a moment.

"Alright?" asked Tell.

"Never better." Bond replied tersely. Bond worked his way into a crouch and peered out. The assassins ahd taken cover, but he noticed something. Through the window one of the cars that they had take up defenses behind, Bond could see the top of a head. Poor bastard was not paying enough attention to his surroundings. He never heard the bullet that killed him, flying out of Bond's newly acquired .38 special.

"Nice shot." Tell said.

"Thank you, double-oh-four." Bond said.

"Now what?" Tell asked.

"Time to make our retreat I think." Bond opened the door of the police car and climbed in.

"Get in." He said. As he said so, the shooting resumed. Glass shards fell everywhere as bullets passed through, narrowly missing the two British agents. Bond had the car started and stepped on it before Tell could even shut his door. They went flying down the narrow road, now thankfully cleared because of al the shooting. As they rounded a corner, they narrowly avoided an oncoming police car responding to the violence. Sirens filled the air now instead of gunfire.

"Well?" Bond asked.

"Behind us." Tell said.

In a black SUV, the assassins were pursuing, and fast. They were shooting again too.

"Damn." Bond breathed.

Tell took a few more shots at the SUV before proclaiming: "I'm out." He dropped the empty gun on the seat. Bond whipped the car around a turn and led them onto a main road that paralleled the market for a stretch. He gunned the engine and sped forward, pushing the car to eighty. The assassins followed and they were gaining.

"They're gaining." Tell said.

"I can't take this thing much faster!" Bond said through gritted teeth.

Into a roundabout they went, having to slam on the brakes to avoid turning the car over. The assassins kept up, but didn't brake as hard. They rear ended the police car hard and shook them up.

"This car is not going to win this fight, James!" Tell shouted.

"So it would seem!"

Bond knew time was short. They were approaching an overpass. If they could make it without being shot, they stood a chance. This time the assassins opened up on full-auto, showering them with lead. Bond felt another round graze his ribcage, less severe than the first, but it was a close call. He hissed in pain. Through gritted teeth he said: "You alright?" Tell nodded.

"Hang on, this might not work." Bond said as calmly as possible given the circumstances. They were at the overpass. The SUV was behind them and to the left. The guardrail was on the right, and below, a major highway.

"Here goes!" Bond said. He jerked the wheel hard to the left, too hard in fact, and the car's tires caught. As he did so he yanked the emergency brake and whipped the back end around. At this speed it was too much for the little sedan and it began to roll. The Assassins couldn't stop at their speed. They barely managed to veer right. Fatal mistake. Had they gone left, they might've hit oncoming traffic, which would've been bad, but right was worse. The SUV hit the back of the car on the under carriage. As the car rolled onto its roof, the SUV rolled on its side and whipped outward toward the guardrail. Sliding at sixty miles per hour, the car hit the rail and broke through sailing right over the edge onto the freeway below.

The car hit the pavement, and was promptly struck by a large oncoming tanker, which in the drivers haste to brake began to slide. On impact the truck jack-knifed. Up above, Bond and Tell had come to a stop. Upside down, covered in cuts, bruises and scrapes, and alive. Bond let out a short laugh and a huge sigh. Tell seemed dazed.

"That was too close." Tell said.

"Oh?" Bond said.

Traffic had stopped down below. The terrified tanker driver had jumped out of his truck and was leaving plenty of room between him and the crash. Inside the SUV, the survival rate was zero percent.


End file.
